Good morning all and welcome to Friday. For a week that was forecast to be wet and miserable, this week turned out to be sunny, warm and dry. I’m sure there is a cold snap in the works but at the moment my tulips are high enough that they will more than likely survive. All of the other seeds are tucked away nice and warm in the greenhouse, so all is well. Are you ready for the Friday writing prompt? Excellent, me too. On your mark, ready set, let the ink fly!
I kind of like this one. Not quite sure where I’m going with it, but it seems like it could be interesting.
Friday, February 26th: Like so many before him, he took the bait.
Like so many others before him, he took the bait. Charles watched as another one of the many fell to Devin, seeing just how easy it was to convince people he was on the up and up. He shook his head and kept his mouth shut. It was getting harder to watch.
People thought they were the ones doing the conning. That they were the ones getting the better end of the deal. Every time. It never occurred to them that they weren’t in charge, that they weren’t the ones running the deal. That they weren’t the cons.
Most of them never realized that they weren’t.
That was Devin’s talent.
Charles had no sympathy for any of them anymore. That long since wore away. They came, greedy, grasping and eager. They didn’t just want what Devin offered, they were willing to screw him over to get it without a thought. To Charles that made them just as despicable as Devin.
It wasn’t hard to watch because he felt bad for any of them. He didn’t. Everyone got what they wanted and agreed to the price, even if they never really understood the cost.
What was difficult, became more difficult every day, holding on to some hope of goodness in the world. Each day there was a steady stream of them, eager to do anything, sacrifice anyone to get what they wanted. Every day it seemed like there were more of them. Holding on to any faith in humanity was beginning to seem like a fool’s dream.
“It will be over soon,” he told himself. The days were rapidly slipping past. He tried not to let the excitement show. He tried not to let the thought of finally walking away, of being free from this place, show in his face or in his actions. Even though he kept a count of the days in his head, he kept no official calendar. There were no days ticked off on the wall, no x marks crossing out the little calendar squares. He didn’t announce the day, in fact when asked when it was, he generally answered with a vague day of the week. Often it was wrong, and Devin laughed at him. The day of the week wasn’t important, it was only the date.
That was the day that mattered. He knew Devin didn’t want to let him go. He knew that if Devin were reminded of the day, or that it was rapidly approaching, there would be an attempt to keep him. To change his mind about leaving. So Charles stayed silent. He didn’t know if Devin remembered or if he did remember, if he thought Charles forgot. It wasn’t mentioned. In the five years Charles had been with Devin, it was never mentioned.
The remaining days ticked by. Charles felt every second of them as though the clock in his brain was beating little hammers inside his skull. Still he gave no indication. Devein made no comment. The Final day was the hardest but Charles made no attempt to make the day look any different. There was no hope in his eyes, no eagerness in his step, it was just a day like any other. They went to sleep as they always did. Charles slipped his few belongings into his rucksack before sleeping, using the bag as a pillow.
He felt midnight slam into place like a hammer hitting an anvil. He sat up with the force of it reverberating through his body. He shifted and in the moonlight drifting through from the skylight, Charles saw the silver chain around his ankle, the one binding him to Devin, poof into dust. He was free. He lasted the term of his imprisonment. Soundlessly he gathered his bag and slipped out of the place Devin called home. He walked off into the night, never once looking back.